Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Yemen and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Lalann to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Bill Wells. All the underground hits.
All Manfred Mann's Earth Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Niagra record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Visage,
Marine Girls,
James White and The Blacks,
Minor Threat,
Crispian St. Peters,
Cluster,
Albert Ayler,
Maurizio,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Happenings,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Blossom Toes,
Jacob Miller,
Gang Starr,
Can,
Interpol,
Reagan Youth,
La Düsseldorf,
Tropical Tobacco,
Letta Mbulu,
Pole,
Bobby Sherman,
Dennis Brown,
The Cowsills,
Flipper,
A Certain Ratio,
The Trojans,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Slave,
Hardrive,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Sound,
The Selecter,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Radio Birdman,
Pharoah Sanders,
The American Breed,
cv313,
Eve St. Jones,
Stetsasonic,
Pantytec,
Minnie Riperton,
Andrew Hill,
Amon Düül,
the Normal,
Severed Heads,
Arab on Radar,
Tomorrow,
John Foxx,
The Alarm Clocks,
Metal Thangz,
Trumans Water,
Surgeon,
Circle Jerks,
Grandmaster Flash,
Brick,
Mark Hollis,
Average White Band,
The Motions,
Ludus,
The Blues Magoos,
The Searchers, The Searchers, The Searchers, The Searchers.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.